


Warmth

by The_North_Star



Series: We Survived [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Everybody Lives, F/M, Post-Star Wars Rebels: The Siege of Lothal, The Author Regrets Nothing, happy birthday i wrote some softcore porn for you, i am crack shipping trash, inquisitua - Freeform, quizzie lives, tua lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_North_Star/pseuds/The_North_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To think it started because they had no choice but to share a bath.</p><p> (imperial survivors AU, where two of our favorite Imperials survive being set aflame and leave the empire)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP. I'll finish it at some point. Maybe. If I get enough likes or a nice comment or something. If I feel motivated enough.
> 
> I'm Inquisitua trash, so I'll be writing for these two endlessly.
> 
> This was originally a birthday gift for a friend on tumblr. What a perfectly wonderful way to wish someone a relaxing and fun anniversary of their entry into the world. "Happy birthday, I wrote you some softcore porn."
> 
> Wonderful.

Today had been a good day.

From an Imperial ship, _Nureneb_ rescued two-hundred slaves by switching everyone to a cargo ship, and covered tracks by causing it to explode.

 

Seems everyone favors to blow up ships nowadays. Thank the Maker there was no one in the Imperial ship.

 

That would’ve been terrible.

 

She still remembers, what it feels like.

 

Trapped under burning metal, skin being seared and scarred, shrapnel in her hands and lips and face. Unexplainable pain, waiting in slow agony to bleed to death.

 

But she won’t think of those things now, nope. Her night would consist of a long warm bath with plenty of soap, then a change of clothes, then a whole decanter of Corellian-style brandy.

 

Of course, when refugees come to any city on Utapau, the facilities are accommodated to them. So while the city Silo Am does have showers and running water, there aren’t enough places to clean up.

 

Three days of dirt and blood and running doesn’t feel so great when the adrenaline high is gone, and Maketh wants to wash it all off.

 

She did not expect company.

 

Now, sharing of facilities is not only necessary in the city, but lack negative stigma. No one, especially Utai and Pau’ans, find it strange to share a bath.

 

“Turn around, please.”

 

Unless you’re a former Imperial bathing with another former Imperial.

 

“….right, sorry.”

 

That sentence alone is simply inappropriate, but becomes scandalous when your bath companion is the former Grand Inquisitor.

 

Kayo, an Inspector and a member of Nureneb, assures them no one cares, mostly because everyone has better things to do.

 

Maketh does not believe her.

 

“I’ll take care of your back after. If you like.”

 

The bath isn’t even a bathtub of any sort, but a closed-off shower. Small cubicles have been carved into the shower wall to hold soap and washcloths at arm’s reach. The floor is made of long tubes, where the shower water falls through and is drained away elsewhere.

 

Pau’ans are used to darkness, but with sight-reliant species on the planet, Utai installed pale blue lamps in Silo Am’s houses that wouldn’t hurt Pau’an eyes.

 

Not that it would’ve mattered to the former Inquisitor.

 

Unlike her equally unpleasant experience with an explosion, his own accident robbed him of his sight.

 

At least she doesn’t have to worry about how her naked body looks to him.

 

But touching….he relies heavily on tactile stimulus, as well as hearing and smell.

 

“Did I smell bad, before all this?”

 

She immediately hates herself for not even thinking about that question. Why didn’t she restrain herself? What sort of question is that?

 

He thinks. The rough washcloth at her back pauses.

 

“Not anything….noticeable. I care not for how you smell.”

 

Oh, thank the Maker.

 

He continues to scrub. “Is my grip too rough?”

 

It is not. Firm but not harsh, with his palm more relaxed than his fingers. They brush idly on her skin. All she replies with is, “Oh, no. Your grip is fine.”

 

The washcloth sweeps the small of her back one more time, then he re-folds it and hands it back to her.

 

“And to respond to your offer before, I appreciate the gesture, but I’ll be able to handle my own self.”

 

“Very well.”

 

The human woman hands him another washcloth. He reaches out and accidentally curls his hand around her wrist.

 

“Apologies.”

 

He takes the washcloth, lathers it with more soap, and begins to scrub away.

 

That touch. On her wrist.

 

“No need. It felt nice.”

 

Dammit. Not again.

 

In the dim glow his face is impassive, but she knows how he’ll respond. “…..nice?”

 

She begins to work on her legs. “Yes. Nice. You know….Pleasant. Warm. Harmless? Nice. Not….not something to apologize for.”

 

The ridge above his left eye raises. “I see. I apologize because it is rude. Also, the word ‘nice’ is not a descriptor usually attached to myself.”

 

Her washcloth rubs at the back of her knees. “Still, I figured it costs nothing t—augh!”

 

The shower door opens sharply and knocks Maketh over, and she falls right into his arms.

 

What.

 

How? This stall is smaller than some broom closets she had made out with partners in, back when she was a teenager in the Imperial Academy.

 

Another Pau’an had opened the stall, and upon finding it occupied, apologizes profusely.

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry! I was told this stall was empty. I’ll find another—-truly sorry—” They rush off, leaving her soapy and completely naked.

 

“I should’ve forseen this. We should’ve just brought our clothing and laid it out in front. At least others would know not to come in.”

 

She nods, trying her hardest not to think about the fact that he is as soapy and naked as she is. So she slides up against him to readjust herself.

 

Big mistake.

 

By the time she’s standing upright again, she feels something new against her….

 

Oh Maker.

 

Against her rear end is something humans would call a ‘hard-on’. Amongst other things.

 

He’s still holding on to her. One hand around her elbow, another supporting her waist.

 

“…..Maketh? I don’t sense injury on you…..”

 

The shower water was cool but the air feels heavy and steamed in her mouth. She feels the pause in his words, awkward, hesitant. Her reply has to be pushed off of her tongue.

 

“…..and?….”

 

“…..well, are you alright?”

 

He is warm, so warm, in the divide of her ass. Where her back and his front meet is a much more pleasant heat. And his hands, trapping water on her uneven skin. The feeling….

 

“I’m fine.”

 

These are not new sensations to her. She had been intimate with others. Of every gender available to humans. Skin on skin, heat in unmentionable places.

 

Nothing like this, though. Nothing as intense.

 

“And you? How are you?”

 

And all from a damned fall in a much-too-narrow shower stall with a man she knows will kill.

 

“I’m alright. Strangely warm, but I assume from the short quarters of this shower and our combined body heat.”

 

A criminal, even on his own home planet.

 

“Shall I let you go?”

 

But his hands on her and his heat dissolved with hers and how hard he is and his rich voice gentle and smooth near her ears and the fact that his attention is all on her…..

 

“No. Don’t.”

 

She gradually turns around to face him in his grasp.

 

And she should frightened by his face alone. She thinks that maybe she was once.

The black sclera of his eyes give way to sightless yellow pupils, and his eyes are sunken in. His nose is powerful and his face is sharp, all angles and gaunt hollows.

 

Burn scars pull one corner of his mouth back to expose bladed teeth, and what exposed skin all over his head that isn’t thin lines is covered with painful red patches and uneven grey ridges.

 

There is tension in his shoulders and neck, and she lifts one of her own scarred hands to his jaw. Cool grey and warm golden skin, forever marred with the punishment of their failure.

 

They match.

 

“Remember when you questioned ‘nice’ touches, and also said you apologized for touching my wrist because it was rude?”

 

A nod. She feels the confirmation shoot in her blood.

 

“How about my touching you now? Is this alright to you?”

 

He isn’t much for words, unless they mattered, but his hand slides up her arm to encase her own. “This is….nice.”

 

“Then you’re alright with this? You consent to this?”

 

“I’ve never done this with anyone before.”

 

She momentarily drops from her high. His expression is so serious, his reply so honest; he’s never had anyone touch him like this?

 

He’s older than her. How?

 

“But….since I would like to, I consent to you. You seem to know this better than I.”

 

His hardness now presses against her mound and her arousal spikes. “And what do you think “this” is?”

 

“Foreplay. A precursor to sexual intercourse.”

 

His response is so curt and pragmatic that she can’t help but laugh. The twist in his face seems offended, but she swallows the rest of her laughter, inhales and runs her fingers over the broad sweep of his shoulders.

 

She realizes she hasn’t laughed in a long time and it feels too good.

 

“No, no, you’re right in a way. This is foreplay. It doesn’t have to lead to intercourse, though.”

 

“No?”

 

“No.”

 

**_To be continued….. ;)_ **


End file.
